Winter Night
by fleurily
Summary: A filled request; Bakura, the Thief King, and snow.


In the ancient world, snow was something Bakura had heard about from the traders who came into the city from the far North, carrying goods of such rarity that their stories could only be true. They spoke of rain that froze in the heavens, falling to the earth and covering creation with white ice as light as a ram's wool. He couldn't quite imagine such a thing, in a place such as Egypt; on sleepless nights, he would stand in the chill desert air, looking out over the sands and wondering if the white glow of the moon on the dunes looked anything like that faraway frozen fantasy.

He never actually managed to travel to that faraway place, where water could freeze or snow could fall.

Thousands of years later, in a world where travel required far less effort, and a man could travel over a vast expanse of land in a matter of hours, the unassuming boy who had inherited that precious Millennium Ring had taken a holiday with his family.

He waited, of course, until the time was right; it wouldn't do any good, having to play a part when he wanted to satisfy his curiosity. When all others were asleep, he crept from his room within the boy's mind, stealing out of bed with steps so silent he ghosted along the floor. There were glass doors separating an outer deck from the living area, but the view from inside the warm building was no better than that of a photograph. He wanted to experience it; feel it, touch it, see if it lived up to the oldest of stories and centuries of expectations.

The thief stepped out into the frigid night, jaw clenching painfully as the cold air stabbed straight to his core. Going out in bare feet had probably not been the wisest of ideas, he realized, but so long as he made quick work of it there wasn't likely to be any permanent damage.

Crisp and frozen, the side of the mountains loomed before Bakura, glowing softly in the light of the winter moon. The trees created black walls of forest on the canvas of snow, interrupting the idealistic image the man had created for himself long ago. There was something oddly disappointing about the distant sight; it simply looked like slick, glistening lacquer coating the slopes.

He stiffened slightly at an odd crunching noise above his head, turning around with the tension of a man accustomed to hostile ambushes. However, there was no one there. It was simply a pile of snow, sliding off the rooftop and falling onto the deck below. The thief relaxed slightly, glancing around to be absolutely certain he was not going to be accosted before approaching the fallen drift.

Now that he was actually close to the stuff, Bakura could see there was more to it than color on a hill. It had a strange, grainy appearance, white and translucent at the same time; even so, it didn't look a thing like sand. For some reason, it looked fluffy, light, but when he touched it with his bare fingers it felt wet and cold. Perhaps those travelers had been right in describing snow, to some degree. Though it looked like nothing he had ever seen before, the coarse appearance of ram's wool was the closest comparison he could produce from his homeland.

A handful of the snow began to melt in his hand, cold stabbing against his skin with all the determination of frostbite. The thief waited, though, watching it melt away until there was nothing but water left to drip from his palm. He shook it off after a few moments of contemplation, straightening and looking out over the moon-lit landscape once again. It was getting far too cold out here for comfort, unfortunately; he would have liked to stay a bit longer, investigating this new element in the peace of solitude.

He couldn't feel his toes as he crept back inside, sliding the glass door shut once again without making a sound. Bakura let out a soft, slow breath of relief as the artificial heat welcomed him, standing still to let himself adjust to the temperature change before slinking back to his warm bed.

Fluffing the pillow, he sighed aloud, closing his eyes and beginning his soft retreat from his host's body. Perhaps, tomorrow, he'd be able to see what the expanse on the mountainside looked like in person...

Bakura blinked, waking up to the sensation of ice water on his fingers. Despite the toasty heat of his bed, his feet and hands were freezing- And as he sat up, he felt a hint of ice melting on his hair.

"What on earth..."

He shivered, wiping the melted snow from his hand with no small amount of confusion. After a few disoriented moments, he slouched back down beneath the covers. Perhaps there was simply a leak in the roof. Everything was still in its place, after all- Even the most valuable of his possessions, the Millennium Ring, was resting safe beneath his pillow.

As he slid a hand beneath his head to check on it, he found himself flinching with surprise.

Somehow, the gold of the Ring was cold enough to sting.


End file.
